


where the times will blind you

by unveils



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, whole lotta drinking, whole lotta pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveils/pseuds/unveils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like –</p>
<p>It’s not like Koujaku couldn’t have anyone. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Or: The one where Koujaku is sad, drunk, and in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the times will blind you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookeds/gifts).



> for cait, who i adore for countless reasons, but most recently for letting me rattle off about the probability of koujaku getting off thinking about aoba and feeling guilty for it.

It’s not like –

It’s not like he couldn’t have anyone. 

There’s a nice blonde who keeps coming by his shop – pretty, not too weird or clingy. He could have something with her, he knows. She’d let him ask her to dinner all sweet leaning against the doorframe of his shop, and she’d pretend to think about it, arms crossed – bat her eyelashes underneath the fringe her friend begged him to cut just weeks ago, maybe suck the lipgloss from her bottom lip – before saying yes.

They’d go to dinner, crawl into bed together at the end of the night when it was just dark enough that she couldn’t see his tattoos or ask questions, and he’d leave before she woke up.

But that’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want anyone (doesn’t want _healthy_  – Mizuki’s voice in the back of his head, sighing) but what he can’t have, and maybe that’s because he’s a little drunk.

It’s Aoba’s birthday, and Aoba's out spending his time with the brat. Every year since Koujaku got back they’d spent his birthday together – drinking at Mizuki’s until Aoba got all warm-cheeked and clingy, held on a little too tight to Koujaku’s side as they stumbled back to Tae’s – but not tonight. Aoba had looked about as sorry as Koujaku felt when he told him, sheepish and bleeding red at the cheeks.

“Ah, Koujaku, it’s just that… Noiz made reservations for dinner.” Bit his own lip, and Koujaku thought he wished he could press Aoba up against a doorframe. “Tomorrow?”

He’d said yes – could never say no, and wasn’t that just the fucking _problem_ –

“Another.” He slurred, slamming his glass on the table.

“So soon?” Mizuki muttered, hands already fishing under the bar for Koujaku’s preferred bottle of sake.

“Where does he get off, huh?” Koujaku gnashes his teeth, wraps the tightness in his chest into anger as he’s always done and lets it fester until the words bleed from his lips hot. “He can’t just walk into Aoba’s life and change everything!”

Mizuki hums, catches Koujaku’s fist in his open palm before it lands on the wood of the bar. “Careful.” He says, calm as ever. “I’m trying to run a business.”

Koujaku’s expression softens marginally at the look on Mizuki’s face – reels back, and takes a long drink from his glass. “Ah, you know it’s just that it’s his birthday.”

“I heard the first time. We had dinner with Tae, remember? You still saw him.”

_Saw_  him. Wrapped in Noiz at every opportunity like some gross newlyweds. He knows Noiz only does it to make him angry, to stir the swell of filth in his stomach that Noiz can see because it’s in him, too.

He caught them kissing by the bathroom, alone with their hands meshed so tight together and felt a wave of nausea so strong he’d taken off early.

“He’ll never forgive me.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.”

“How am I going to explain–”

“Don’t think about it drunk.”

Koujaku sighs, leans back in his chair and waits for the world to shake and shudder as it does. After a minute or two and the slight tinkle of a bell, Mizuki deems him fit for alone time and leaves to tend to his other customers.

Koujaku’s tongue feels heavy, shuts his eyes against the bright of the lights as he leans his head back to feel the whoosh of the air from the door.

Sits, until the tap of a shoulder jolts him free of his thoughts.

It’s a girl (of course) – not one he’s seen before, but pretty all the same. She’s beautiful, soft and delicate looking all the way to the tips of her hair which fall to her shoulder in long, blue curls.

It’s not the right shade, but Koujaku feels something stir in his gut.

“Is anyone sitting here?” She asks, and he tells himself it’s wrong, that it’s sick, that he _can’t_ , not when Aoba trusts him so much –

“No.”

When he kisses her, she tastes too sweet, too soft – he presses his lips down against her shoulder, instead, a tight pale stretch of skin. Slides his fingers up underneath her shirt and wishes for flat where there’s round. But round is good, curves are good – they keep him grounded, for a moment, same as the moans heavy and wet in his ear.

Aoba would never do this. Aoba would never kiss you like this. Aoba would never moan like that, not for _you_ –

They don’t make it to her place, not to his – she jerks him off behind the bar, pulls her tight against him and doesn’t stay after it’s over.

He’s not sure he keeps himself from moaning another name into her hair when he comes.


End file.
